


New Things

by AntarcticBird



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 19:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8909596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntarcticBird/pseuds/AntarcticBird
Summary: Kent has no idea how he even ended up at this stupid Christmas party. It’s not like he’s a big fan of the holidays in the first place, and seriously, this is all just a little much.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was "first kiss," which was all kinds of fun to write for. :)
> 
> Many thanks to [luckiedee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee) for the beta! <3

Kent has no idea how he even ended up at this stupid Christmas party. It’s not like he’s a big fan of the holidays in the first place, and seriously, this is all just a little much. The entire room is decorated in green and red, people are wearing Santa hats, and _Jingle Bell Rock_ seems to be playing on loop from the various speakers on the makeshift stage, the presence of which fills him with a feeling of trepidation. It looks like there’s some kind of (probably terribly saccharine, embarrassing) event planned for later.

All he’d wanted was to do Jack a favor now that they’ve patched things up between them, and now he’s here. In the middle of this sickly-sweet insanity. He hadn’t really expected to ever be put in a position where he’d have to turn down an invitation to a Christmas party organized by Jack Zimmermann and his boyfriend. He feels out of place surrounded by Jack’s college friends and pretty much all of the Falconers — he’s the only relic of Jack’s past and he’s still not really sure that he has a place in his future. 

“You made it,” Bittle greets him brightly, handing him a paper cup of something pink. “Wonderful!”

Jack just smiles that crooked little smile he has that used to do all kinds of funny things to Kent’s insides. It doesn’t anymore, but it’s still good to see Jack smiling at him.

“Yeah, of course,” Kent says, taking a sip of the pink stuff. It’s sweet and tastes undeniably like alcohol. Which is good, he supposes. He’s sure he’ll need it. “It’s not like I had anywhere else to go.”

Jack nods, then claps a hand to his shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

He can’t help but smile back at those words. _It’s good to be seen_ , he almost responds, but bites the words back at the last minute. Too much personal information. “I’m gonna go have a look around,” he says instead.

Bittle points to the long table along the side of the far wall. “Have some mini quiches later. They’re amazing.”

Jack grins down at Bittle. “Not as amazing as the cinnamon apple pies you made.”

“Which I only made because you wouldn’t stop asking.”

“Well, I asked because they’re really good!”

Bittle blushes and punches Jack’s arm. “Oh hush, you,” he says, and Kent raises his cup at them and walks off. They’re just too cute and coupley and all it does is remind him that he’s going back to an empty hotel room after this, before flying back to his empty apartment in two days. But that’s okay. It’s what he wants. It’s what works best for him. But it’s hard not to feel a little bit like a weird recluse in the midst of so many people who all seem to be friends with each other.

Well, he thinks, maybe he can at least convince someone to accompany him back to his room tonight. It wouldn’t be the first time he picked up a straight guy.

As he makes a slow circle around the room, observing all those Falconers, he feels oddly out of place — he’s good at fitting in and enjoys it occasionally, but really, he’s not that much of a party person. Everyone expects him to be, and he’s always good at faking it. But mostly he’s just missing his cat, who actually does pretty well without him, and he doesn’t really feel like making friends here and pretending to be the life of the party.

As he’s watching a bunch of people crowding together to look at someone’s cell phone, he bumps into a solid mass right in front of him — a solid mass that reaches out a hand to steady him.

“Careful,” a slightly amused voice says. “You don’t want risk damage your nice face.”

He looks up, and up, and right into the smiling eyes of a giant Falconer who still has a toilet lid-sized, warm hand on his arm and seems in no rush to remove it.

It’s the good-looking one. Alexei Mashkov. Not that Kent has been staring at his face for long hours during interviews he watched completely by accident. Or at that magazine article with the shirtless picture.

He opens his mouth, closes it again, clears his throat. “Then don’t stand in my way,” he replies. He means it as a joke, but it sounds rude anyway; his voice does that sometimes. He hates it.

But Mashkov’s mouth twitches into a grin as he lowers his hand. “Not my fault you can’t watch where you are going.”

“I wasn’t really going anywhere,” he says stupidly. God, this whole event is awful. He should never have come. He can actually see people setting up a karaoke machine on the stage now. It just keeps getting worse.

“I’m Alexei,” Mashkov says, as if introductions are really necessary. They’ve already thrown curse words at each other on the ice and slammed each other against the glass more than once. Apparently, none of that seems to matter at a Christmas party.

“I know,” Kent replies before he can stop himself, then blushes to the roots of his hair. Which is so fucking stupid. Knowing the names of other hockey players is _normal_ and totally not a big deal. It’s just this fucking party. He should have stayed home just like he’d wanted to.

His new acquaintance seems unfazed by his inexplicable idiocy. “You can call me Tater.”

Kent nods, forces a smile onto his face. He doesn’t even know why he can’t pull himself together — it’s not like he’s never talked to good-looking straight guys before. “You can call me Kent. Because, uh, that’s . . . my name. Um.”

“I know,” Tater says and then actually winks at him, the bastard. “I have to help set up machine,” he nods toward the stage, “But I will see you around later, Kent.”

Kent watches Tater walk away to join a few of his friends on the stage. “Okay,” he says much too late to his retreating back.

Seriously, all he wants is to go home.

Instead he makes another round along the walls of the room, sips at his drink. Jack tries to wave him over to where he’s sitting with Bittle, but Kent shakes his head at them and keeps walking. 

He knows he’s being weird and mopey, but he hates Christmas — weird, stupid holiday that makes people who’ve been ignoring you all year pretend they suddenly like you — and he just made a fool of himself in front of Alexei Mashkov and he thinks he has the right to be in a really bad mood right now. A really bad mood that keeps sinking even further when the endless _Jingle Bell Rock_ finally cuts off just to be replaced with a random Falconer taking the microphone and doing awful, awful things to _Winter Wonderland_. Kent may hate the song, but he doesn’t think it has done anything to deserve this kind of treatment.

“You don’t look like having fun,” a voice speaks up behind him as he leans against the wall by the door.

“Oh, I’m having the time of my life,” he grunts, turning his head to look at Tater, who has managed to sneak up on him again.

Tater tilts his head. “You’re on a Christmas party. Time for be jolly, yes? You want more punch? It’s good!”

Kent shakes his head. “I’m just not a big fan of Christmas parties, I guess.”

“Oh? Why not?”

He shrugs. “Too cheerful for me.”

Tater laughs. “You don’t like having fun?”

“I love having fun,” Kent protests. “This is not fun. This is just punch and people in Santa hats. And . . . who’s in charge of the music anyway? Karaoke? Really?”

Tater smiles. “You can sing too, if you like. Do you have some favorite Christmas song? We can even sing duet. But I’m not so good. I’ve had many warnings not to sing tonight.” He laughs. “But how often do you get possibility for singing like this?”

“Yeah, I’m just really not into any of this stuff.” Kent lifts his shoulders. He’d really like to stop acting like a fucking jerk. It’s just really difficult to break out of the pattern once he’s grumbled himself into a corner like this.

“This is good party,” Tater says patiently. “You really don’t want to be here?”

“Jack invited me.” Kent sighs. “But honestly? I’d rather be at home with my cat.”

“I saw your cat in Instagram,” Tater says, sounding very excited. His eyes sparkle when he smiles like that, Kent notices. It’s weird, almost: this guy is as tall as a lighthouse, broad-shouldered, built like a picture of an underwear model after Photoshop editing. And yet his eyes are so kind, his smile so bright. He’s cute. He looks like a fucking giant out of a kids’ book, so tall and strong he could probably crush Kent with his little finger, and he’s the cutest fucking thing Kent’s ever seen in his life.

He tightens his hand around the almost empty paper cup as his palms get sweaty. “Cool,” he says.

“You have very cute cat.”

“Thanks.”

“Cat is very cute. But not cute as you.”

Which makes . . . no sense. From a straight guy. This is not how straight guys talk. But even if Kent doesn’t want to get his hopes up, he can feel his face burning and he has to lower his eyes, his heart pounding hard against his ribcage. “I -” he says.

“Sorry, I make you uncomfortable,” Tater says quickly. “I was only thinking -”

“No,” Kent says, a little too loudly. “No, that’s, um. Thank you. I, uh. Thank you.” He’s losing all of his coolness points in one night and he knows it — if anyone overhears this, the image of Kent Parson the Party Boy will be thoroughly destroyed by morning.

“I can get you new drink,” Tater offers. “Only if you want, of course.”

“If you’re trying to get in my pants, you’ll have to try harder than that, Mashkov,” Kent says, almost on autopilot. He grins. It seems he’s recovering from the initial shock — this feels more like himself.

“Then I will try harder,” Tater says, and grins back. “Although is not really what I was trying.”

“Oh,” Kent says, and he’s just so confused. Like, so, so confused. Talk about mixed signals. “Well, in that case -”

“But maybe we talk more?” Tater continues. “I was hoping for possibility to meet you.”

“You . . . have?” Kent stares up at him with wide eyes, then shakes himself out of it. “Well, here I am. You should feel honored. I don’t just talk to anyone.” Closeted maybe, he thinks. Even though he’s still pretty forward for a closeted guy.

“I feel it,” Tater says seriously, and Kent almost laughs out loud.

“I’m sure you do.”

“I get you new drink, okay?” Tater insists. “And then we -”

“Mistletoe!” someone shouts, and Kent turns his head to see one of the other Falconers pointing at them, looking excited. “You’re under the mistletoe!”

“Who even hangs up mistletoe for a hockey party full of straight guys?” Kent grumbles, low enough to not be overheard. Tater hears him anyway.

“Aw, come on.” He shrugs. “It will not be so bad. Is tradition.”

“Yeah, a stupid tradition,” Kent replies, glaring around the room where several Falconers have now gathered to shout “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” at them. At least the shouts drown out the sound of Bittle wailing his way through _Let It Snow_ on stage. Kent hasn’t even been aware anyone could sing that off key. But Jack is standing there staring up at Bittle, the look on his face exactly the same one Bittle gets whenever someone mentions Beyoncé. It’s disgusting how in love they are.

“Are you afraid I make you fall in love with me?” Tater asks, grinning widely.

“You wish,” Kent says, and tells himself: to hell with it. Gay, bi, straight, undecided, if Tater is pushing this, then whatever. It is tradition, after all, and at least Tater is hot. And kind of exactly his type if he has one, but he tries hard not to think about that as he steps in closer and tilts his head back. If nothing else, this will stop those guys shouting at them.

Tater leans down and presses his lips to Kent’s, and Kent gives himself just enough time to notice that they’re warm and taste like punch before he sways back and ducks away. His face is burning.

“There,” he says. “Done.”

Tater, the bastard, is smiling at him. “We can meet again here later if you want to finish this right.”

The fucking teasing tone in his voice. And Kent still just can’t tell whether this is some weird kind of chirping or if Tater is actually hitting on him and it’s fucking _frustrating_. He doesn’t know whether he wants to slap him or push him back against the wall and show him exactly what a real kiss from Kent Parson feels like. He settles for “I should find my friends,” and walks away, doing his best to ignore the way that a bunch of Falconers seem to immediately crowd around Tater, laughing and patting his back.

He fucking hates this fucking party.

Instead of finding Jack and Bittle like he said he would, he casually joins a group of guys at the other side of the room who are discussing the last _Star Wars_ movie. He hasn’t seen it and has no intention to, but no one even seems to notice that he has no idea what he’s talking about. He’s not surprised. He can fake his way through anything. It’s a talent.

He’s back to lingering near the snack table contemplating if he does indeed want to try a mini quiche when Jack finds him again.

“Having fun?”

Kent looks up at him. “Yeah. Sure. It’s awesome.”

Jack gives him a long look. “Okay,” he says. “I hope the guys have been nice to you.”

“Oh, yeah. And I’m gathering a lot of information that will help destroy you the next time we play against each other,” Kent assures him. “So thanks for inviting me.”

“Has Tater been giving away all our secrets?” Jack grins.

“Tater?” Kent pretends to look confused. He just hopes to everything he doesn’t believe in that Jack hadn’t seen that mistletoe incident — he doesn’t need to hear about it every time they meet for coffee after this. Not that he’s worried — Jack is not exactly observant most of the time when it comes to these things and he probably hadn’t had eyes for anything that wasn’t his boyfriend anyway.

“Yeah.” Jack nods. “He found you earlier didn’t he? He was really looking forward to meeting you. Asked me if you would really show up about a million times last week.”

“Oh,” Kent swallows, and he can’t help the fluttery feeling in his chest. “Yeah, we’ve — met.”

“Good.” Jack looks pleased. “Listen, I think Bits and I are heading out soon, but do you want to come over for a bit tomorrow? We’d like to see you again while you’re still in town.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “I’ll text you?”

“Okay.” Jack gives him a single nod and his smile is soft. “I’m glad you’re here, Kenny.”

The nickname used to make his stomach flip, but it’s just a pleasant warmth now. It’s good to have his friend back. It’s good to finally be just friends, no complications. “Thanks, Jack.”

Kent makes up his mind to leave too once Jack and Bittle have said goodbye to everyone. This is not Las Vegas where he’d have a reputation to uphold. Doing what people expect is always easier than going to all the effort of building a whole new image for himself, but no one cares about him here. No one would even notice if he’d leave right now.

Besides, it’s almost midnight. Not really late for a party, but he doesn’t really feel like hanging around now that his friends have left. And staying might actually do more damage to his image than leaving, with the way he’s acting like a bumbling idiot tonight.

He does his best to slip out quietly, grabbing his jacket from the coat room and heading toward the exit when he hears footsteps following him quickly.

“Kent, hey,” a familiar voice calls after him, and he turns around to watch Tater approaching.

“Hello again,” he greets, doing his best to put on a teasing smile and a slightly superior expression to hide the way his heart beats faster in his chest at the sight of him. Even his palms are sweaty. He feels like a teenager with a stupid crush and he doesn’t like it. Tater just has to go and be genuinely nice on top of being the most adorably hot guy Kent has met in his life.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. I have to Skype my cat.”

Tater laughs. “You’re funny guy. I like it.”

“Did you want something?” he asks, just wanting to escape at this point so he can get his silly feelings back under control.

“Yes.” Tater nods. “I’m wanting to apologize. I make you uncomfortable earlier and I’m sorry. It was not my intention.”

“It’s okay,” Kent says. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. Don’t worry.”

“You’re not so good at hiding things as you think,” Tater says, his face serious.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Kent frowns at him.

Tater shrugs, shoves his hands into his pockets. “I was looking forward to meeting you, so I asked Jack for advices to talk with you. But I think I did a mistake with all the . . . how do you call it? Teasing? I’m sorry.”

Kent swallows. “You asked Jack for advice?”

“Yes.” Tater shrugs again and there’s something so adorable about the way he hunches in on himself with his broad shoulders and towering height. “He said me you like people to be direct, but I think it was maybe too much?”

“It’s okay,” Kent replies stupidly. “You didn’t offend me. It’s okay.”

“But you avoided me after mistletoe for rest of the night.” Tater looks a little sad at that.

“Yeah, I was just looking for Jack and Bittle,” Kent explains, even if it’s not really true. “It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

Tater’s smile is tentative. “So if I ask you for going to coffee tomorrow, would you say yes?”

Kent feels his jaw drop, voice momentarily gone. “Uh, what?”

“We can talk,” Tater says. “Maybe as friends? I think maybe it wasn’t such good idea to wait for talking with you on this party. But I was too nervous after last game.”

“You were nervous?”

“Yes.” He says it like it’s no big deal. “I’m nervous too now.”

“You don’t seem nervous,” Kent points out, trying not to show his confusion and the rising hope that maybe Tater isn’t quite so straight after all. “Like, at all.”

“Because I’m still trying to make good impressions,” Tater says, and his grin is a little lopsided this time. “So, you want to go to coffee? Or maybe to breakfast tomorrow?”

Kent thinks about it, really thinks. It could be a disaster. He’s good at this — flirting, hooking up with people — when he has no real interest in them. But he likes Tater. Kind of a lot, actually. But he’ll also be in town for two more days and he doesn’t know if he can stand being around Jack and Bittle and all their happiness that entire time. And if this is going where he thinks it’s going — whether Tater wants to experiment or is actually into guys — he doesn’t want to say no to that. “Okay,” he says before he can talk himself out of it “Yeah. We can do that.”

Tater’s face lights up, his excitement so uncensored it almost melts Kent’s heart with how unbearable cute it is. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

“Good,” Tater says. “I went in this nice coffee shop with some of my team lately. It is just next to this building. They have very good cakes. If you like cakes.”

“I love cake,” Kent says. “Okay. Around ten?”

“I will look forward to it,” Tater says, and Kent has no choice but to smile at him before hastily making his exit.

**

 

Kent arrives at the coffee shop twenty minutes before ten and walks twice up and down the street to not be embarrassingly early before he sees Tater already sitting at a table in a back corner. He barely suppresses a laugh at the sight of him and decides he can be early if Tater is already there. It’s really cold outside and his fingers are getting numb.

The air inside the coffee shop is warm and smells of coffee and pastries. He’s grateful for the cold outside all of a sudden because he can blame the way his cheeks flush on the sudden change in temperature. It has nothing to do with Tater’s delighted expression as he sees him.

“Hi,” Kent says.

“Hello,” Tater answers. “You look cold.”

“Well, it’s freezing.” He hangs his jacket over the back of the chair and sits down. “I didn’t really feel like leaving my cozy hotel room. You’re lucky I’m here.”

Tater smiles. “Yes, I know this.”

Kent stares down at the table top, flustered again. It seems to be happening every time they talk and there’s nothing he can do about it. “So, what’s good here?”

“Did you have some coffee already?” Tater asks. “I’ll buy you some. And all their breakfast is really good. Do you want any cake? Or something different?”

Kent shakes his head. “I can buy my own coffee. Thanks.”

Tater tilts his head at him. “I know you can. But I can too. Please can I get you any coffee? And maybe a breakfast?”

“Fine,” Kent says, mostly to keep the conversation from getting too awkward. This feels like a date, and no amount of trying to convince himself otherwise can make him shake off this feeling. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“You don’t want to look in the menu first?”

Kent waves a hand dismissively. “Nah, that’s okay.”

“I will be right back,” Tater says and gets up.

“Cool. Okay.” Kent smiles at him, doing his best to look nonchalant.

Tater returns minutes later with a small tray, carrying two cups of steaming coffee and two pieces of pie.

“Here you go,” Tater says, setting everything down on the table.

“Thank you.”

“This pie is my favorite,” Tater says. “Bitty introduced me this pie and I always get it when we go in here.”

“Yeah, Bittle likes pies,” Kent says, grinning.

“He does.” Tater grins back. “So, how are you today?”

“I’m fine,” he takes a sip of his coffee, trying not wince at how hot it still is. “How are you?”

“Fine too, thanks.” Tater rolls his eyes and laughs. “Why are we behaving awkward again?”

Kent puts his cup down, lets out a little laugh himself. “Honestly, I have no idea. This is weird.”

“I can’t change it,” Tater says. “I feel myself nervous around you.”

Kent looks up at that. “Why did you want to have coffee with me today?” He’s not even sure why he’s asking instead of simply reverting to his usual teasing self. He’s just . . . completely off his game and he doesn’t like to analyse why.

Tater blushes and doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “I want to know you better,” he finally admits. “That’s why I tried to talk with you on the party yesterday.”

“Yeah, but why?” Kent is starting to feel a little frustrated. “I just don’t get it.”

“You seemed like interesting person in your Instagram,” Tater explains. “And I saw your picture on a photo in hockey magazine some long time ago and I thought -”

“What?”

Tater seems very interested in his own hands clasped on the table top. “That you’re nice looking,” he says. “I have thought about meeting you a lot. Ever since Jack said me that you two are friends.”

“Oh.” Kent feels his stupid heart hammering in his chest again and he doesn’t know how to stop it. “I — may have thought the same about you. A few times.”

Tater’s look as he lifts his head is so hopeful. “Yes?”

“Yeah,” Kent says and he knows his face is fire engine red again. There’s nothing to be done about it anymore. He feels a mix between fluttery and apprehensive — people usually don’t like him much, except maybe for Jack a long time ago and he’s not even sure about that anymore in retrospect.

“If I asked for this to be date, would this be okay for you?”

Kent’s nod is a little shaky. “Yeah. I guess that would be okay.”

Strangely enough, things somehow get less awkward after that. Tater is easy to talk to, Kent discovers quickly. Tater is funny and witty and nice, and he makes him laugh. It’s unsettling at first how he never even tries to hide any of his emotions, everything he’s feeling clear as day on his face. But once Kent gets used to it . . . This is not how being around other people works, not in Kent’s experience. Interacting with people means pretending; it means putting on the mask they want to see, the one that protects best against anyone getting too close. None of that seems to work on Tater. Tater tries to actually understand him, and yes, it is very unsettling. But it’s also . . . weirdly relieving. He doesn’t have to watch what he’s saying all the time if Tater sees right through all his masks anyway. That’s new territory, but not entirely bad. Just . . . new.

Once they’re done with their breakfast, Tater even insists on walking him back to his hotel. Kent is sure he knows what that means and he doesn’t really have any objections — there are a lot of fantasies he’d like to act out if he gets the chance and since this is what dates are for, he’d sort of been hoping for things to go in this general direction.

“You wanna come up to my room?” Kent says in a way that’s not at all subtle, he hopes.

And yet, Tater hesitates for just a second. “All right,” he says finally. “I will come up for one minute.”

They don’t talk in the elevator and Kent is almost sad things are coming to an end so quickly — this is absolutely what he wants, but they’ll most likely part ways afterwards and even if he’s not really into repeat performances, he thinks maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with Tater.

But he’s going to be in town until tomorrow night, so maybe he’ll be able to convince him to meet up again if he really pulls out all the stops.

“You want a drink?” he asks as soon as the door to his room closes behind them, heading straight for the mini bar.

“No, thank you,” Tater says, leaning back against the wall.

Kent turns around raising an eyebrow at him. “Oh, okay. So, straight to business then?”

Tater looks confused. “Business?”

“You know,” Kent says, waving an arm. “That’s what we came here for, right?”

“I only wanted to walk you back in your room,” Tater says. “I’d love going some different place with you right now, but I have short skate at noon. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Kent lifts his shoulders. “Yeah, no, that’s cool. Of course.”

“I really would much better like to stay,” Tater admits. “But are you going back in Las Vegas today?”

“No.” It’s Kent turn to give him a confused look. “I’ll be in town until tomorrow night.”

“So . . .” Tater bites his lip, then gives him a tentative look. “If you have some plans tonight that’s okay, but if not I’d like ask you for going out again? I know normally it’s not two dates on same day, but -”

“Wait,” Kent holds up a hand. “Another date?”

“Yes,” Tater says. “And as well tomorrow, if you want. If not, I leave and it’s all okay, but I’d feel myself really honored if you want to agree.”

“You want to date me?” Kent asks incredulously.

Tater nods. “I meant what I told. I want to know you better. Only if you want it too of course. But it’s okay if this idea is stupid, I know we live far away and it’s enough difficult to date persons from other teams even from closer towns, but -”

“You want to date me?” Kent repeats, because something about this simply doesn’t make sense at all. “As in, not just these two days but like . . . for real?”

Tater blinks at him and he looks a bit like a lost puppy. “Yes? I fear I make things weird again. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Kent says quickly. “No, I — I just didn’t expect this.”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Tater tells him. “It was just -”

“What if I wanted to say yes?” Kent quickly interrupts him.

“Then I would give you my number,” Tater says, smiling. “And send you text after my skate. We could go in this restaurant Jack told to check out. And talk some more.”

“Can I pay this time?” Kent asks.

“Are you saying yes?” Tater asks back.

Kent does his best to play it cool even if he’s doing a little victory dance in his head. “Yes,” he says. “Might as well.”

Tater fishes his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. “Please can I have your number?” He asks, so polite even through the wide smile on his face.

“Sure.” Kent gets out his own phone, and Tater sends him a text once he’s added Kent to his contacts.

“Now you as well have my number,” he says. “Thank you for saying yes.”

Kent rolls his eyes at him. “You’re kind of hot. I’d be an idiot to say no.”

Tater pushes himself off the wall and walks over to him. “You’re not idiot,” he says. “But you are very cute.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that,” Kent points out. “You might be careful or I’ll start believing you eventually.”

“Then I will say it until then,” Tater says softly, and cups Kent’s face between both of his large hands. They’re warm and gentle. “You’re very cute, Kent Parson.”

“Likewise,” is all Kent has time to say, before Tater kisses him.

It’s nothing like the kiss under the mistletoe, which was really barely a kiss at all. This one is soft and slow and unlike any of the kisses Kent has had over the past years. He places his hands on Tater’s chest and keeps his eyes firmly closed, and lets Tater do what he wants, gentle pressure, a soft lick over Kent’s bottom lip, and then carefully opening his mouth to kiss him deeper. Tater kisses him like he means it; there’s no build up to something more. He kisses him like this kiss is all he wants, like he enjoys it.

And Kent can feel his head swimming, can’t hold back the sharp intake of breath as Tater tilts his head for a better angle before their lips touch again.

Once they pull apart Kent feels a little dizzy, and hot all over. It’s never felt like this before. Like he wouldn’t mind doing it again, and not just to work towards something else. Like there doesn’t have to be some kind of payoff. Like a kiss is all he needs.

“I will send you a text when skate is finished,” Tater says. “And then I will take you out for second date.”

“Okay,” Kent says, and his voice comes out a little breathy. He knows he’s wearing a dopey smile on his face but he can’t control it. Doesn’t even want to for once.

Tater leans in again, presses another soft kiss to his lips. “You really are cute,” he whispers, and then drops his hands, smiles warmly, and turns around to leave.

Kent waits until the door has closed behind him before he lifts a hand to his mouth, touching his fingers to his lips carefully.

It looks like he has a date tonight. With the fucking hottest and nicest hockey player on the planet. He can’t wait to tell his cat once he’s back home. He can’t wait for Tater to actually meet his cat eventually.

But it’s no use getting ahead of himself.

Although, he thinks, if he has any brains at all, he’s not going to mess this up.

New territory. That can be a good thing, right? He decides he can at least give it a try.

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable on [Tumblr](http://alianne.tumblr.com/post/154676160491/patater-fic-new-things)


End file.
